by R. L. King
The black mage blinked, and then his intense, obsidian-chip gaze settled on Stone. “Good evening, Alastair.”
“It’s—er—good to see you. I didn’t expect you’d come, but I’m glad you’re here. May I interest you in a drink? I can’t give you a personal tour tonight, but I’m sure we can…” He let it trail off, suddenly uncomfortable as he recalled he hadn’t seen Kolinsky since the night the black mage came to his home. He’d thought about visiting the shop a few times in the weeks since then, but always found excuses not to.
“No. Thank you. I won’t be staying long tonight.”
Stone looked past him again, toward where Dunstan had disappeared, and went for it. “Stefan—what the hell was that about? Do you know him?”
Kolinsky didn’t look at him, nor did he answer.
“Stefan? Do you know Edmund Dunstan?”
“Is that what he is calling himself?” The black mage’s eyebrow rose. “Amusing.”
“That’s not his real name, then.” Stone narrowed his eyes, his own annoyance growing. Few things wound him up faster than knowing there was a puzzle out there, but the people who knew the answers to it were willfully keeping them from him.
“No. That is not his real name.”
“So—who is he? Where did he come from? How do you know him?” He let out a loud sigh. “I haven’t got time for this tonight, Stefan, but you’ve got to tell me. I’m sure we can work out some sort of understanding—assuming he’s not got some connection to…the other bit you refuse to tell me anything else about.”
Kolinsky pondered that. “Not directly, no.” He glanced at the door Stone had just exited. “What do you know of him? How did you encounter him? I heard him say he would ‘be in touch.’ Have you entered into some sort of agreement with him?”
Stone gave a bitter chuckle. “I know bugger-all about him, and that doesn’t make me happy. He just…turned up while I was alone in that room, looking at one of the displays that’s not ready for public viewing yet. How do you know him?”
“I knew him…a long time ago. I have not seen him in many years. I thought perhaps he had died.”
“A long time ago.” Stone shook his head in frustration. “Stefan, with you that could mean anything from ten years to a hundred—or more. I know you’ve got your little secrets, but I’m not in the mood for it tonight. I’ve got things I need to do. But if there’s something about this Dunstan I should know—especially if he’s potentially dangerous—please tell me. After what I’ve been through recently, I’ve had my fill of enemies from the past popping up.”
“Indeed?”
There it was—old Stefan’s curiosity was every bit as strong as Stone’s own, and he wasn’t much better at hiding it. “Yes. It’s a long story, and not one I fancy relating right now. But if you tell me about Dunstan, I promise I will later, and I’m sure you’ll consider it worth your time.”
Kolinsky studied the door to the memorial room, deep in thought. At last, he sighed. “Let me…think about it. I must do a bit of research first.”
“This again?” Stone growled. “Stefan—”
Kolinsky held up a hand. “No, Alastair. It is not the same thing. Not…precisely, though the two are tangentially related. I merely want to ensure that what I tell you is true and correct, rather than relying on my speculation. I will tell you two things now, though, free of obligation.”
“Yes?”
“First, Dunstan is perhaps closer to you than you might expect, and you should keep that in mind that if you wish to seek more information about him on your own. Consider, especially, how he has chosen to identify himself to you.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“Second,” Kolinsky continued as if he hadn’t spoken, “it sounds as if he might wish to enter into some sort of arrangement with you. I strongly advise against doing so, should he propose such a thing.”
Stone swallowed, trying to drive down his growing frustration. “I can see why you aren’t charging me anything for those, Stefan. Could you get any more bloody vague?”
“Forgive me. It is the best I can offer at the moment. His appearance caught me off my guard, which as you know is not an easy thing to do.” His posture relaxed more, and he inclined his head. “I think for now it is best for me to go. I trust your offer of a private tour is still available at some later date?”
“Er—yes, of course. Just—get in touch with me and we’ll work something out. But Stefan—”
“Excellent. Thank you. Good night, Alastair. And congratulations on your endeavor here. I predict it will prove to be a success.”
Before Stone could reply, he turned and headed back up the hall toward the great room.
This time, Stone didn’t hurry after him. He paused a moment, thoughts in turmoil, and then strode in the same direction. When he rounded the corner, he was not at all surprised to see no sign of Kolinsky—or of Dunstan, but he hadn’t expected that either.
Eddie spotted him from across the room and hurried over. “Where’ve you been, mate? Been lookin’ all over for you. I’ve got a couple of folks all the way from Nigeria who want to meet you.”
“Er…Yes, of course. Eddie…”
“Yeah?” The librarian frowned. “You okay?”
“I’m…not sure. Did you happen to see a man come through here—tall, brown hair, middle forties? You probably wouldn’t have recognized him, but you’d definitely have noticed him. He was the sort you don’t miss.”
“I—don’t think so. When?”
“Just a few moments ago. He’d have to have come through the great room, from the hallway over there.”
“Uh…no, definitely not, then. I was right over in that area chattin’ with Mr. Eze and Ms. Okafor. I kinda thought you might’ve wandered off to the memorial room, but I didn’t want to follow you there.”
“So…he didn’t come out of that hallway?”
“Nobody came out of there, far as I saw. Except you.”
Stone narrowed his eyes. “No one else? So you didn’t see a tall, dark-haired man in an old-fashioned suit either? A different one, less than a couple of minutes ago?”
Eddie gave him a sideways, suspicious look. “Stone, are you sure you ’aven’t been ’ittin’ the bar a bit too ’ard? I told you—I didn’t see anybody but you.”
“Okay. Okay.” He rubbed his face. He’d been feeling so good tonight, too—as if things had finally begun to settle. “Eddie, have you ever heard of a man named Edmund Dunstan?”
“Nope. Should I ’ave?”
“I don’t know. I hadn’t. That’s the man I was talking about. He knew who I was, but I’d never heard of him. It’s probably not his real name.”
“Well, ’e wasn’t on the guest list, at least not under that name. What did ’e want?”
“I don’t know that yet, either. He didn’t say, in so many words. My friend—the other man you didn’t see—suggested I should consider what he’s chosen to call himself. I don’t know what he meant by that.”
“Hmm.” Eddie stroked his chin thoughtfully. “Well, I don’t know about Edmund, but if you’re considerin’ names, ‘Dunstan’ is kind of a funny one to be comin’ to you with.”
“Why is that?”
“It’s from the Middle English. Means ‘dark stone.’ Maybe ’e was ’avin’ a joke on you.”
Stone tensed. “He…didn’t seem the joking type.”
“I don’t know what to tell you, then, mate. I’ll look into it for you at the library on Monday if you want, but right now you really should come with me to meet Mr. Eze and Ms. Okafor.”
“Yes, of course.”
Stone had trouble keeping his mind on his host’s duties for the remainder of the evening, but he doubted any of the guests caught on. He circulated around, chatting with various people until late into the night. Though he always kept an eye out for Dunstan and Kolinsky, he saw no sign of either of them. By the time the last guest had thanked them and said his goodbyes shortly after one a.m., S
tone was exhausted from his vigilance, and no closer to solving the enigma of Edmund Dunstan.
Perhaps it was a coincidence. It wasn’t a common name, but it wasn’t uncommon, either.
Verity drifted over, the remains of a drink in her hand. “You look preoccupied. Everything okay?”
“I’m…not sure yet. I’ve got some things on my mind. Where’s Ian?”
She gave him a sly smile. “I saw him and that red-haired guy he was talking to slip off together an hour or so ago. I wouldn’t expect him home tonight.” She took his hand. “Speaking of home—you want to head there? You still look hot in that tux, and I’ve still got plans for you.”
“Yes—let’s do that. Kerrick tells me he and the staff have the cleanup well in hand, so there’s no reason for us to hang about.”
He’d already said his good nights to Eddie and Ward, so he and Verity took the portal back to the Surrey house.
They could have stayed in London, but over the past few weeks Stone had felt an even closer connection to his ancestral manor. By now, much of the superficial damage had been cleaned up and repaired, the broken windows replaced, and new chandeliers re-hung in the great room. The only major work that remained was the reconstruction in the east wing, which was proceeding, albeit slowly.
As soon as they got to the house and closed the door, Verity reached out to tweak Stone’s tie, pulling it loose and tossing it aside. Then she leaned in to kiss him, drawing him close. “Mmm…I’ve been waiting all night to do that.”
“So have I,” he admitted. For the moment, as they hurried upstairs to his suite, all thoughts of Edmund Dunstan and the strange scene back at Caventhorne departed his mind in favor of more immediate considerations.
Afterward, though, as he lay next to Verity listening to her soft breathing, his mind once again returned to the puzzle. Their words swirled around—Dunstan’s, Kolinsky’s, and Eddie’s—refusing to make sense. Why would Dunstan choose that name as a pseudonym? Was he trying to tell Stone something with it? Where had he been “away,” and “sequestered”? What had caused the obvious antipathy between him and Kolinsky? He felt as if the answer danced just out of reach, nebulous and maddening.
Then, suddenly, Kolinsky’s words came back to him:
I knew him…a long time ago. I have not seen him in many years. I thought perhaps he had died.
He is perhaps closer to you than you might expect.
The name “Edmund” seemed familiar, but where had he heard it before? It was Eddie’s full name too, but that couldn’t be right. Aside from the fact that Eddie never used it, it had to be somewhere in connection with him or his family…
He sat up, so abruptly that he flung Verity’s arm off his chest.
Bloody hell, no. It can’t be.
“Mmm?” Verity murmured, trying to snuggle back into his warm side.
“Shh…” he whispered back, bending to kiss her forehead. “Go back to sleep. I’ll be back soon. I want to check something.”
“Check…what?” She still wasn’t fully awake.
“I’ll be back,” he said again.
“Mmmm…” She was asleep before his feet hit the floor.
His heart pounded hard as he jogged across the grounds toward the cemetery. Dew from the tall grass soaked the legs of his jeans, but he barely noticed.
This was absurd.
It wasn’t possible.
His brain was spinning so hard, trying to solve this puzzle by any means necessary, that it was now giving him solutions so ridiculous they were almost embarrassing.
But…what if it wasn’t?
On his way to the cemetery he took a detour, stopping at the garage. The place had been restored now, all three doors replaced. He carefully unlocked one and shoved it up, hoping the slight sound wouldn’t wake Aubrey.
No such luck, as usual. The caretaker’s aged beagle, Mullins, barked as soon as the door began to lift, and a moment later Stone heard the creak of Aubrey’s upstairs door opening.
“Who’s there?” a familiar, suspicious voice called. “I’m armed, so—”
Stone sighed. “It’s me, Aubrey. You can put the gun away.” He stepped free of the garage and around to the foot of the stairway where he was visible in the light.
“Sir?” Aubrey immediately lowered the shotgun. He wore pajamas, slippers, and robe, and now sounded confused rather than suspicious. “It’s three in the morning. Is something wrong? The house—”
“No, no. The house is fine. We’ve been here for a couple of hours now, back from Caventhorne.”
“Well…then, sir, why are you out here at this time of the night? Is there something I can help you with?”
“I—” Stone paused. Should he share this absurd delusion with the caretaker? If he was wrong, he’d look like an idiot.
But if I’m right…
“I—er—was looking for a crowbar.”
“Why on earth do you need a crowbar at three in the morning, sir?”
“I might not. But if I do, I don’t want to come back to get it. Go on back to bed, Aubrey. I’m fine. I’ve just—got to do this. It can’t wait until morning.”
Aubrey paused on the stairs, obviously debating. “Please wait just a moment, sir,” he said at last. He hurried back inside and returned a few minutes later. He no longer carried the shotgun, but wore work trousers and had stuffed his feet into heavy boots.
“Aubrey—”
“Please, sir. If you’re planning to use a crowbar on something, you—er—might need some assistance. No offense intended.”
Stone had to chuckle. “Fair enough, and none taken. But I want you to keep quiet about what we’re doing. Especially if it turns out I’m wrong.”
“Of course, sir.” His answer came immediately.
Good old Aubrey’s loyalty was one of the enduring constants in Stone’s life, and he rarely treated it with the gratitude it was due. “Thank you, Aubrey. Bring two—it will be faster.”
Crowbars in hand and Stone holding up a light spell, they tramped across the grounds to the cemetery. Aubrey followed in silence with a lamp until they stood in front of the door to the mausoleum, then cast Stone a questioning look when he used magic to open it.
Stone didn’t respond. Once again, his heart pounded harder as he stepped inside. He held up the light spell higher to get his bearings, then headed to one of the lower sealed vaults along the wall and crouched to read the inscription on it.
Aldwyn Aristide Edmund Stone, 1762-1851
“I was right…” he murmured.
“Sir?” Aubrey moved the lamp in closer.
“Aldwyn Aristide Edmund Stone. My great-great-great grandfather.”
“What…about him, sir?”
In answer, Stone gripped his crowbar. “Come on, Aubrey—let’s get this cover off.”
“Sir—” Still Aubrey didn’t move. “Are you expecting to find more papers hidden here?”
“No. Come on. Let’s do this. I’ll tell you after we know for sure.” Without waiting for a reply, he bent and jammed the crowbar into the space between the crypt wall and the cover.
Aubrey, clearly sensing he wouldn’t get anywhere with his mercurial employer until he’d gotten what he wanted, bent to help, and before long they had pried the cover off the crypt.
Stone used magic to set it aside, then held the light spell up again.
Inside, as he’d expected, was what had once been an elaborately carved wooden casket, rotted now after over a hundred and fifty years but still intact enough to conceal the remains inside.
“What…are you looking for, sir?” Aubrey stood back now, holding the lamp, and rubbed his head.
“Stand back.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Stand back,” he repeated. At this point, he had no time or desire for explanations or delays. His heart thundered with anticipation. As soon as Aubrey stepped away, he used magic to carefully draw the casket free of the alcove and lower it to the floor. Even with his careful han
dling, some of the old wood splintered and fell away.
He swallowed hard, half-afraid of what he might see, and raised his hand. The top of the casket lifted off and settled next to the bottom.
Stone and Aubrey both stared into what was revealed.
“It’s…empty, sir,” Aubrey whispered.
Stone nodded. “Yes.”
“You...you expected that, didn’t you?”
“I did. I’d hoped I was wrong, but—” He gestured at it, moving the light in closer. The casket’s elaborate, white silk interior was yellowed and rotted with age, but he saw no stains indicating a body had decomposed there. “I don’t think anyone was ever in here at all.”
Silence hung in the air for several seconds, broken only by the slight squeak of Aubrey shuffling back and forth in his boots. “Why…did you expect it?”
Stone pointed at the plaque on the wall next to the now-opened alcove. “Because I think I met him tonight.”
Aubrey gasped. “My God, sir! What—”
“And not only did I meet him, but I’m fairly sure now that he was the ‘A’ mentioned in Brathwaite’s journal. The ‘fiend’ that was sealed in the hidden room in the catacombs.”
Epilogue 2
Basingstoke, England
Miriam Padgett, forty-four, had never thought she had much to live for, honestly.
Her life, such as it was, was about as ordinary as it could possibly be: she resided in a tiny flat in a tiny building in a part of town that nobody ever went to unless they had some obligation to visit someone and they couldn’t worm their way out of it. She worked at a dress shop, where she spent most of her days doing alterations and repairs in the back room because the proprietress didn’t think she had enough personality to wait on the customers. On Saturdays she took the train into London to visit her aged mother, who lived in a rather shabby nursing home in Brixton. Every week she expected to get the call that her mother had passed peacefully away, but every week the old lady stubbornly persisted in hanging on. Miriam didn’t mind. Even though she and her mother didn’t get on all that well, the trips to London were nonetheless the highlight of her otherwise drab week.
